The Broken Road
by SisterGrimmErin
Summary: "Ventura highway."
1. Prologue

**Freedom**

Once she'd had it. Once she'd run free with her brother, her best friend in the sunlight, finally free of her father, and laughed and laughed as he showed her the sunset inside a cloud. Then, after the great Titan war, he'd asked to marry her.

She'd refused and fled and fled to the ends of the Earth. She begged her adoptive father Okeanos for help, but he'd looked at her and said "I'm so sorry, daughter-of-my-heart." The pity in his eyes had undone her. She'd screamed and kept running. None of her family saw her for three hundred years.

She'd been so lonely, so cold. One day a peacock had come up to her, starving and wanting food. She gave it some, welcoming it into her hut.

Then it had Zeus' eyes.

She'd merely surrendered after the first screams. She'd known all along he'd find her. But she hadn't, she hadn't known it would hurt so much, that she could feel so empty...

On her wedding day she'd not wept, not laughed. Her face was a stone. She'd been unforgiving, cold as a statue. He controlled her body, her mind on occasion, her happiness. But the one thing Zeus had never been able to steal was her heart. He'd remained faithful for a hundred years. One day he'd shouted at her, "Will you not love me?"

She'd merely looked at him and said, "Not when my husband does not know what love is. Not when he chains me."

He'd been so very angry. He'd hurt her. Bruises and scars made a network across her broken soul...

But she was the Queen of Heaven. Always, always she could remember the stars and how they were free and cold, far away from the Earth...

The stars, the stars that criss-crossed her heavens. Zeus might have the earthly sky, but she could hide among them, sometimes. But only sometimes.

She'd borne him two sons and two daughters.

The sons she'd feared. Ares had his father's temperament, but was worse at hiding it. He'd hurt her at birth, pounding on her breast. She'd tried so hard to love him.

She'd thrown Hephaestus because he had what his father's soul looked like... and then he'd never forgiven her, for his crippled and unwhole self. He created such beauty, such wonder, and she could never see it, never show him how much it mattered to her. She begged for entrance to his workshop on the day of his birth, year after year. But she never received it, and never blamed him. The only son she'd ever love, not that he'd ever believe her...

Demeter, her sister, once her friend, had borne Persephone. Her great secret, the arrangement of her stepdaughter, her niece's marriage to Hades. She'd watched Demeter's grief and it had broken her heart. But her greatest regret was Hades' imprisonment of Persephone. Such a vital child she'd been... so lovely. She'd pretended she was her daughter... now the child was just like her.

Her daughter Nemesis was was all the worst parts of her. To look upon that awfully lovely face was to look in an unflattering mirror. And Nemesis knew it and hated it. Hera's ability to love had been all but snatched away.

Hebe. A feckless child, but what could you expect from the goddess of youth? She gave her the apples, handed guardianship of her wedding gift over to her daughter. What a beautiful child... but she'd forgotten her mother eventually, just as her father had. Zeus had not come to her, given her a child in thousands of years... and then she'd married Hercules. Hera had given consent, despite all the times she'd known the hero would betray her daughter.

Oh yes, Hercules. She'd been the villain of that tale, but by then she'd lived in a web of lies and regret, hatred and memories and pain. Could anyone imagine why she hated that boy so much? It was because of his mother... she'd slept with a form of her husband, betrayed him. And her husband had stayed with her, comforted her and forgiven her. Loved her. The love in that cottage had twisted her heart. Hercules had been happy. Had a childhood. A regular mortal home. Comfort.

Oh, how Hera had wanted to be a mortal.

But she couldn't, so she cursed him... and killed him, even though he became immortal... because he had been like his father after all, never loving his lovers, using them on his quests, abandoning like that poor Hesperide and killing his family... of course he blamed her, but that had been merely wine, nothing divine at all. Of course he regretted it. Who wouldn't? But maybe he knew a trace of her pain, of her regret. He'd saved her from the giant, after all.

And before that there had been Leto. Oh, she'd been so jealous of the children in her womb. Beautiful. The kindest of the gods, the twins of Delos. Apollo, who was eternally in love with love and wept when his sons died. Artemis had been the worst, though. Jealousy snaked her when she saw that child had had all she ever wanted- freedom, friends forever, to protect, even to love and be loved, despite the fact that he died, betraying her. Oh yes... these other gods, they didn't know how lucky they were to be able to love, not even Aphrodite. So she tried to make them not be born, but her heart hadn't been in it. Such beauty should exist to bless mortals, because she herself was no blessing...

Io had been an almost-friend, a priestess. But then Zeus had ruined the friendship, as he'd ruined everything else that was good, made her all but forget her happy childhood among the waves. When her son had been born, she couldn't stand it, couldn't. She called in a debt with Argus, but... oh, then they'd joined her in the stars, forever mocking her. Just as Zeus had intended it.

Dionsyus, Bacchus... the twice-born. She shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have cursed his mother. But oh, he'd been a mortal. He'd had happiness. He had a wife, who adored him. He saved her. He loved her... and she loved him. Love, yes, all she'd never had... Dionsyus and Adriane.

Jealousy, jealousy. Was that any excuse?

Athena was her friend, for a while. She'd needed a mother, that child. And she raised her, pretended she was her daughter. But then she grew alone, grew apart. Athena needed no one, of course. Did she know she sent Odysseus, to grant her daughter love despite her oath? To give her children? Probably not...

Then she'd bound Zeus. He'd punished her for that severely. Had it been worth it? He'd never trusted her again, never trusted Poseidon either. But when it was worst, Hera took refuge in the sea, and the Lord of Heaven could not reach her there. But Poseidon could not hide her forever... she'd always loved that brother, kind as he was. But no one could hide from Zeus once he'd set his eye on her. She did after all belong to him... the goddess of marriage twisted her hated wedding ring.

Teresias, the one who'd been male and female, said women enjoyed sex more. She'd been furious, blinding him... she'd only ever known rape and pain, virgin anew every year. Imagine breaking and breaking every year when you must bathe in the stream of your birth... Zeus always enjoyed that day... Honestly! Then Zeus had given him prophecy. Poseidon was right, he would have been a good god of theater.

Ah yes, theater. The Muses. They'd been such beautiful girls, she couldn't bear to hurt them. Gifted with song, careless as the wind. Unhurt, even by her. Oh, how she'd wanted to hold them, pretend they were hers, like she'd done Athena.

Then there'd been Jason. _That_ had been a beautiful man. She hadn't dared come close, but he'd deserved her help, that hero. They'd left Hercules behind on her say-so. So happy, full of life. Why is that the thought of eventual death makes them, the mortals, so alive? She'd sent Thetis and the Nereids, her once-adoptive sisters to help them. It had been so long. She'd forgotten what fun was like, after that, had not laughed again for a long while.

Thetis had eventually betrayed her, making a pact with Zeus. It had been the last straw, and she'd confronted her husband with her last vestige of bravery.

He'd brushed her off, humiliated her in front of all Olympus. Threatened her. All the gods were troubled. Their pity was almost welcome because she'd lost pride long ago. That war had torn everybody apart. She'd wished for its end long before its beginning. She didn't know why she'd participated in that contest, or offered Paris that. Perhaps it was her adoptive mother telling her, _"You are the most beautiful of all the immortals, and someday they'll all know it."_ But Athena had still obeyed her. Perhaps that goddess loved her, a little bit. It had been comforting, for a while. She'd even seduced Zeus to aid Athena, in return... the one time she had control over him. She relished it. Perhaps women can have some power, after all...

She'd beat Artemis in battle, once. Her daughter Nemesis had been thrilled, of course. Battle gave her no joy. But at least it made people respect her. Love was long ago. Until now. Until Robert Valentine... she'd hidden from him. This man she would go to the ends of the earth to protect. Her true love, found three thousand years after her marriage.

She held the baby to her breast. She could not hold him long. But she could bless him, protect him with all her powers. She could even ask Artemis to hide Robert, dear Robert who would remain loyal to her. They were star-crossed, but she would never, ever betray him either. From now on, she was Bran's. And no rape, no violation of Zeus could take that away.

But oh, she could never, ever see him again.

She kissed her baby and wrote in elegant script upon his blanket, "My love, hold him close. I shall never love any but you. I love our son. Tell him not who I am, lest the wrath of Olympus befall him. The Grace protect thee both."

And she cried, cried and cried, as Hermes waited to take him away. Oh, how she cried.

"What is his name?" Hermes asked carefully. He'd been sworn to silence on the River Styx... hopefully it would be enough.

"Brandon Kephalos Valentine."

"Why _Kephalos_?"

"He remained faithful to his wife, despite the lust of Eos."

Hermes nodded and wiped away his stepmother's tear. "He will be a hero."

"Oh Okeanos, I hope not."

The Queen of Heaven knew even then 'twas in vain.


	2. My Mother

_Chapter One_

Mother

Brandon Kephalos Valentine was claimed on an ordinary day/night. Except for, well, the lightning storm and the visit from the unhappily married woman and the blood-red sky, not in that order.

It started out like most nights. It was a year after Kronos was defeated, and Bran was the only unclaimed camper left.

Nobody had quite figured out _why_. Although Bran's build resembled that of a swimmer, his eyes were an uncommon light violet never found in the children of the sea god. He was only an average swordsman, a slightly better archer, and he hated heights but also feared deep water to some extent. He never seemed to tan or burn in the sunlight, which ruled out Apollo kids with their California skin, and his manner of speaking, was deliberate and thoughtful but not creative, and he despised sitting still long enough to read an architecture book. He detested drinking, had shown no interest in either gender as of yet, interrupted Hermes cabin pranks out of moral conduct, and all of the minor gods were trying so hard to be submissive to Olympus it was unlikely he was their unclaimed child, and furthermore the satyrs reported his scent to be unusually strong. He had none of the morbidity of Hades, though some mused upon it, and had shown none of the ability to attract shadows, and his father was supposedly biological as he resembled the mortal to some degree. He lacked a green thumb as well. His family history was unremarkable, as half-blood children went- a father left alone with the child after a year's liaison with a goddess Robert Valentine refused to name, if he could. No stepparents, but two adopted sisters that were mortal cousins. The only strange thing about his mundane family was that clear sight ran through the generations, and Bran had a greater ability to notice small details about the world and multi-task than most of the demigods.

Though Chiron may have had a few suspicions, no one truly predicted what was to happen next.

The day half-dawned- well, _dawned_ is the wrong word. The half-bloods were awoken sometime past four by a giant peal of thunder and crash of lightning. A tree fell someplace in the clearing before Hermes cabin, where Bran was staying by default. "What the freak?" muttered Travis Stoll. "That almost landed on the roof!"

Thunder boomed even louder. There was the sound of splintering wood.

"Connor, you didn't steal anything from anyone huge, recently?" accused Kris, his sibling.

"What do you think, I'm that stupid!" mumbled Connor, rubbing his eyes. "_I've_ never offended Zeus. Anyone else?"

They shook their heads, but Bran just blinked, dazed. "It's for me," Bran murmured, shocked. Why hadn't he seen it before?

Twelve pairs of mischevious eyes turned on him. "What did you do, man?" sputtered Dan.

"I was born," managed Bran, dizzied by the revelation.

"Crap! Is he a son of Hades after all?" managed Travis.

"No, that's not it," mumbled Bran. "I don't know how I know... but I think I'm kind of… a son of Hera." The lightning grew louder, the thunder rolling not a mile away.

"Dude, is he on drugs?" asked Dan. "I mean, Hera's never-."

Promptly, the roof was ripped off the cabin. The demigods clutched their blankets and yelped as cold rain drenched them. Bran, for his part, merely gazed up at the sky with blank, unseeing eyes.

To prove his statement, a peacock feather floated down to Earth.

"Holy shit, man," blinked Travis. "Look, dude!" he yelled at the sky. "Some of us are just Hermes kids here!"

The thunder moved to focus on Bran. Kris yelped as Dan smacked Travis. The girl tried to yank Bran down to the floor, because she was a good person despite her trickster ways, but Bran was paralyzed by fear and the irony of it all. He was going to die. Wasn't he?

All of a sudden, the thunder and rain cleared. The sky was blue and happy, as in normal summer, for a perfect instant.

Then, it went blood-red. Bran thumped to the floor at last.

"We're taking you to the Big House," insisted Kris stubbornly, tugging on his frozen arms. "C'mon, Bran!"

Shaking his head, the boy spiraled back to Earth and ran as the Hermes cabin dragged him to the porch steps. Connor rapped on the doorway. Mr. D. answered.

"Well," said the god with an unpleasant smirk and real anger in his eyes, "it seems my stepmother finally caved."

Recalling her mythology, Kris remembered vaguely that Hera had persecuted and killed Mr. D.'s mother. _Crap_. "Can you please get Chiron?"

Luckily, the centaur burst through the door, curlers still in his tail, while Mr. D. was still staring at Bran like he would an unpleasant insect in need of squashing. "Thanks, Kris. I'll get the whole story out of Bran. No one will hurt him here." Chiron made this assertion slightly less reassuring by shooting an anxious glance at the wine god.

Not wasting any time, Chiron flung the boy onto his back and set him down on a hallway chair. Bran's ADHD brain- which was working in overdrive at last- wondered how they prevented hoof prints on the hardwood floors.

"Your mother is Hera?" Bran nodded, going shy now. He'd assumed his mother was one of the less well-reputed minor goddesses. "Zeus tried to kill you?"

"Then the sky went blood-red," muttered Bran, chilled. "Why did it do that?"

Chiron's eyes narrowed. "Someone..." he said finally, "would have had to make a blood sacrifice. Take the lightning bolt for you."

"But- Oh." Bran shivered. "My-,"

Chiron nodded grimly. "Your mother cares for you. She loved your father, you know," mused Chiron. "I would not speak harshly to her, Brandon," The centaur advised him. "She may not have a benevolent reputation, but she has much kindness in her and she did not willingly marry- you know who I mean," he continued urgently.

"As kind as always, Chiron," whispered the beautiful woman in the doorway, as though her throat was very sore. She wore a white bathrobe, ducky pajama pants and a Yankees T-shirt, no makeup, and had a bruise on the side of her forehead. Her brown hair, the same color as his own, fell in waves that resembled his and was hopelessly tangled. Violet eyes were concealed with reading glasses, and her feet had blue fuzzy bunny slippers.

Bran blinked. She looked so much like a normal mom he loved her on sight. This was what he'd dreamed of having. A real mother, who wore normal clothes and smiled at him even when she was tired. A lump built in his throat as he considered the impossibility.

"Come here," said the Queen of Heaven, tears building in her eyes as she opened her arms hesitantly, as though unsure of how he'd react.

Bran did what he most wanted to do.

For once in his life, he trusted someone absolutely and completely and ran into her embrace, squeezing her with all the love he'd longed to give.

"I thought I'd never see you again," sniffled the goddess, a mother to the core. "You were a beautiful baby, and now you're so old and I don't know what to do," she admitted, as though to herself.

"Did you watch me?" he asked thickly, wanting to hope that she cared for him, that his mother _knew_ him, at least a little.

"Of course I did," she told him. Bran blinked. "Your birthday is July 13th. On your seventh birthday you threw a fit because there was no chocolate cake. Your cousins, Cally and Jennifer, annoy you but you love them like the sisters they are. You've been growing so much lately that your largest shoes don't fit anymore and your father's jeans from his college days work better. You worry about Cally's clear sight, because she doesn't really belong in the world of Greek myth. You want to protect her. Your father is your hero, according to an essay you wrote, as it should be."

Bran's mouth dropped open. "I send letters to your father twice a week," Hera continued. "He keeps me up-to-date. I'm sorry I couldn't claim you earlier, my son." The last two words, _my son_, were savored on the tongue. "Do you understand?"

Bran smiled a sheepish grin up at his... mother. "I do," he told her, sincerely. He cleared his throat. "Can you visit sometimes?" he asked her piteously.

"I'll see you once a week, no matter where you are," she vowed. "I swear it by the River Styx."

Bran's heart swelled. "Do you have to leave?" he asked her, trying not to let his voice crack.

For answer, she smoothed his hair and asked, "I only got to hold you once. Indulge your mother for me?"

The little boy in Bran nodded.

Chiron having long since left, they sat down together on the couch. His mother put his head on her lap, stroking it gently. "Love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," the woman said with a kind of quiet rapture. "Always have. Always will."

"Me too," Bran mumbled as he fought exhaustion. The lightning had tired him out.

"Sleep," she told him. Bran yawned, and rested soundly, a child once more. His slow, even breathing made Hera feel alive again, for the first time in four thousand years. _This is what I would live with, if I could_._ Oh, Robert. If I could I would marry you and have countless children and I love you and him. Please. Don't stop returning my affections,_ the goddess prayed, unsure of who to ask. Her chest bled ichor, and her heartache was greater.

But she found solace in her child's company. After all, only a life lived for others is worth living.

X X X

When he woke up, Bran managed to extract a promise from his mother to write to him, and she swore on the River Styx to visit him in person once a week. A chill went up his backbone at that- what would Zeus do to her?- but he blinked away tears of gratitude. Then, she'd given him a compass. "It will point you towards the nearest being with whom your fate is intertwined," she said, matter-of-factly, like compasses of destiny were common things. "It possesses other traits, too. But do not hesitate to leave it behind if necessary. And don't name it. Names make you forget it is only a tool, and not as important as any one life." Then she looked up at him, eyes sparkling. "Happy belated thirteenth birthday." Then she kissed him on the cheek. "The only safety for you from a storm is in a church, temple, or any place of great faith. Remember your father and I love you. I'll see you, wherever you are, on Thursday." Bran nodded, trying not to beam, but she understood. He tucked the compass not away, but gripped it lightly in his hand and resolved to have Beckendorf find a chain for it.

Her form began to glow. Bran almost didn't look away, but he averted his eyes in time to merely catch a glimpse of her celestial beauty. The beauty made him illogically proud, in the way little kids are defensive of their parents. _Appropriate, I guess_.

He looked outside and tried to judge whether it was noon yet by the position of the sun. Probably, but he didn't feel like going to archery right now.

Bran had always been a thinker, one to puzzle through things slowly. Now, he felt as though he needed answers.

And he knew who had them. Bran searched his pockets for a drachma, but none presented themselves. A quick glance around the room ensured there were no phones. How could he reach his father?

Stepping quietly through the corridors of the Big House, his plans changed as he ran into the young woman who would one day hold everything that he was- honor, heart, loyalty and life itself- in her hands. However, at the time, it was not apparent that C.C. Talbot was anything to Brandon Kephalos Valentine but a hostile _and_ possibly promiscuous knife-wielder.

Even though Bran rarely made snap judgments, the dangerously beautiful demigod _was_ gripping the handle of an army knife, her hands clutched against a pathetic Dionysus kid's shirt. "Now, what did I say about trying to cop a feel, Winslow?" the Amazon-like girl said in a teacher-like, overly calm voice. She was perhaps a year older than him, as tall, her age making her speech all the more strange and the physical epitome of _femme fatale_. The widely reputed C.C. was slim, with kinky but not curly brunette hair, strangely green eyes, and was wearing nothing but a blue lace tank top and skintight jeans. Somehow, Bran had the feeling the outfit didn't inhibit her ability to fight, even though he'd never met her in the flesh before. His traitorous body tried to avoid noticing _how much_ flesh there was.

"That it was all fine as long as it was only you I was feeling, I didn't reach for anything I shouldn't, and never did it while you were on business?" stammered the half-drunk pretty boy.

She smiled grimly and dropped the tipsy kid like a stone. "Hope we don't see each other again for a while." Winslow scrambled away without as much as a backward glance.

C.C. then turned to him. "Heard you're a son of Hera," she said, those lively green eyes scanning him up and down. Bran tried to meet her unsettling gaze. "Well, the eyes are right," she murmured. "Have you heard? Lord Zeus is demanding you prove yourself… Bran is it?"

"I haven't heard anything about a quest, and yes, it's Bran. What's it to you?" he asked curiously.

"I'm coming along, that's what it is to me. And in case you were wondering who I am, it's C.C. Talbot, daughter of Persephone."

"So what's with the knife?" he asked without thinking.

"And Ares was my sperm donor," she admitted reluctantly. "Anyways, let's go see the new Oracle. Heard she gives great prophecies of doom and such. Don't look so green." She tugged on his arm. Bran struggled to keep up as she half-dragged him through the corridor. Thankfully, the Oracle's guest room was close by.

Rachel Elizabeth Dare opened the door to them. "Hey," she smiled. "Just give me a minute to get this Esmeralda thing on the road. And what's with the compass?"

Bran looked down at the compass which he was still gripping tightly. "My mother gave it to me," he told her.

Rachel nodded. "All right. Just a warning, I won't remember anything I said and these tend to come on sudden-,"

She gripped her red curls frantically as her normally blue eyes went green. "What I speak is for the son of Hera only," hissed the voice of Delphi.

C.C. rolled her eyes and left the room. Bran faced the ancient power head-on. "Approach, seeker, and ask," the Oracle said through Rachel.

"What is my fate?" asked Bran shyly.

The Oracle was not kind. "Two go north, then four of shadowed birth plan to go to the backwards land. Son of Hera, pity you cannot guard your heart- to love that which becomes immortal is to die when they betray you, with lies from the start. Apollo has cursed you with Aphrodite's hand."

And then he was with Rachel again. "I _hate_ not knowing what I've said," mumbled the clear-sighted priestess. "Did it have a good rhyme scheme?" She noted Bran's open-mouthed, devastated expression. "Oh. Well- let's just say Delphi's a little cryptic and prophecies are rarely what they seem."

Bran nodded blankly, and walked out of the room, a lump in his throat and his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

C.C. loomed over him, tall, dangerously gorgeous, and her eyes glinting with the faintest hint of warmth.

"So… rough prophecy, huh?"

He just sighed and nodded.


	3. Contentment Is Overrated

**Ellen's Author Note - Hey! Apologies for the wait and crappy quality of the chapter, I've been slightly busy as of late. Hope you enjoy it anyhow, and the next chapter is Erin's, so I promise it'll be better.**

**Erin's A/N – She flatters me. I like it, but she also disses herself and I don't like that.**

**Disclaimer – Neither of us own PJO, and the chapter title is a mutilated title to a song by **_**Airborne Toxic Event**_**, give them a listen, they're awesome.**

--

_Chapter 2_

Contentment Is Overrated

Bran clunked across the area between the cabins nosily pulling behind him, a suitcase on wheels and a large, heavy rucksack strapped to his back. Rain poured down, causing most of the campers to be jammed inside their cabins or the pavilion. Only a few members of the Hermes cabin had ventured into the rain, using the desertedness of the camp as a clean pallet for pranking.

"Seriously, Kyle, They won't know what's hit them, just… yeah, that's it. Now, throw me up the eggs." _Crack_. "DON'T THROW THEM _AT _ME YOU IDIOT!"

Bran chuckled slightly upon reaching the Hera cabin, but thunder crackled dangerously in the background, reminding Bran he was very much not desired at camp.

The door creaked open, reveling an ancient, dusty, peacock-filled décor. The 6 full sized beds had never been touched, half bloods rarely dared enter Hera's cabin, fearing the goddess's wrath. Bran ran one finger along a windowsill, leaving a long trace of dust free chipped paint. Dust swirled around the air angry about being disrupted from its spot in the cabin.

Bran sneezed.

The rucksack made its way onto a full-sized bed, closely followed by small the dark haired demigod. The 6 sets of duvets in the cabin all were embroidered with peacock feathers. The desks were sculptures of peacocks; the birds were even sculpted into the ceiling! From what Bran could guess, his mother disliked peacocks. He wondered how much say she'd had in the decoration, and how much had been his stepfather's choice.

He pulled himself off the covers, glancing at the stark walls. Pale white and dusty like everything else in this damn lonely cabin. The random urge to make it not such an unlivable cabin struck Bran suddenly, but it still made a sort of sense when he thought of it. It was supposed to be a cabin to represent Hera, but so far it wasn't. It was filled with symbols of her forced marriage and bad memories. Bran flew from the cabin, not even shutting the door behind him. The rain started suddenly, and the clichéd thunder crackled tiresomely in the distance as Bran sprinted towards the art and crafts building.

The art and crafts building was deserted. Worn canvases lined the walls, hanging behind paint splattered easels. Sketches lay across the tables. A1 folders tucked away in cupboard areas, underneath an old kettle and battered mugs. Drawings had been pinned to the walls in an effort to prevent them getting smudged. Charcoal fingerprints swiped along the shiny desktops and a tray of clay objects waiting to be put into a kiln sat on the edge of the bench.

He collected two tins of paint along with some brushes, a paint tray, some pieces of cloth and a bucket before he made his way from the cabin, waddling slightly from the arm full of stuff to carry.

Bran made his way to the Hera cabin, quickly dumping the stuff on the porch before sprinting off towards the camp shop.

The door swung open, reveling a tired, disheveled child of Hermes slumped over the cash register. One long, skinny arm reached out before pressing a small red button on a box, a chipper voice boomed out causing both Bran and the Hermes child to cringe away.

"_Welcome to the Camp Half Blood store! Please feel free to browse through our stock." _The chipper edge to the voice disappeared. "_Stealing will not be tolerated."_

"Yada Yada Yada." Said the boy tiresomely, before running a hand through his fringe, "What is it that you're here for mate?"

"I need some curtains, and bed sheets."

"I'm not even gonna ask what you were doing… I take it you'll need some condoms with that order?"

Bran's checks blushed furiously as his head ducked, staring at the mud spatters on his shoes. "No, that's not what I meant…" He stared up again. "I'm redecorating my cabin."

"Kay then, we've only got kinda cream ones, which won't be very good with any nocturnal activities you participate in."

Bran held up a hand, signaling him to stop. "They'll be fine. Just take it off the Hera cabin's account." All the cabins had various accounts for expenses, funded by the individual gods.

The cashier grinned. His hair flopping into his warm brown eyes again. He must have been about 16. He was only trying to pull Bran's leg about the condoms, but a thirteen year old boy wouldn't get that, he would just be mortified.

Bran picked up the bed sheets and curtains off of the counter before staggering out of the shop.

The journey to the cabin was still empty due to the ever present thunder and lightning that seemed to be getting closer and closer to camp grounds. Bran was thankful for the plastic packaging that covered his new sheets.

He immediately got to work in the Hera cabin. Firstly all the bed sheets were stripped and dumped in a pile outside. The rain seemed to be pouring down harder as storm clouds covered the sky, moving wildly with the relentless wind.

Bran then took his duster before stepping outside and running the end of it along the porch hand rail to dampen it slightly. He quickly hurried back into the cabin, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with water. Bran quickly got to work, running the duster along all of the window ledges and the skirting boards. He then got to work on the bed posts and small tables.

The thought struck him, he was probably always going to remain an only child. Bran scanned around the room, _one, two three, four, five… six_ he counted, multiplying it by two to get twelve beds. Bran didn't need twelve beds.

He reached up, pulling off one of the mattresses, and lugged it to the door, before lifting it above his head. Bran dug his heels into the mud, in a valiant attempt to keep his balance. He made it all the way to the Hermes cabin before dropping the mattress on the soaking porch.

He ran back to the cabin, splattering mud behind him with every step. Campers had gathered at the windows to watch the strange efforts of the violet eyed boy as he continued to drag the mattresses across the waterlogged grass.

Bran sighted in relief as he dragged his last mattress across the courtyard. He dropped it on the increasing pile of mattresses before attempting to fall on top of it. All this ended up in was the pile toppling over and Bran being pressed against the wall of the Hermes cabin.

A familiar brown haired boy, Connor, looked down at him.

"What the Hades are you doing?" he asked, slowly cocking an eyebrow.

"I'm giving you some spare mattresses."

The boy hit the top mattress, a spray of water jetting out of it as another bout of thunder crackled. "…Thanks… I guess."

Bran pulled himself up from the wall, examining the superficial scrapes along his arm. "You're welcome; now I need to get a move on if I'm gonna finish with my cabin redecorating." He said, heading in the opposite direction.

Bran pulled himself into the cabin once more before opening up a pot of deep red paint. Instead of pouring it into the tray, he dipped the roller straight into it, and sloppily flung it towards the wall. Paint splattered against the white walls causing an almost horror film like effect.

He spread the paint unevenly across the walls before a snigger awoke him from his trance.

"What are you doing?"

Bran spun around, to be faced with a thoroughly amused looking C.C. She leant against the doorframe, one hand running through her, slightly damp, hair as rain continued to pour down behind her. A pair of combat trousers hung loosely off of her hips, and she wore a green t-shirt with the words 'Dirt-Worshiping Tree-Hugger' written across it.

"I'm redecorating." Bran answered simply.

"Right…" C.C. said slowly, as she glanced at the 5 empty bed frames. "You're not very good at it. Need some help?"

Bran barely had time to nod, before she pushed him out of the way, take the roller out of his hand. She poured some fresh, red paint into a paint tray, before dipping the roller into the paint tray. C.C. stepped to the wall, quickly fixing the mess Bran had made of it.

Bran slumped down on the full sized bed, watching C.C. get to work.

"Why are you not immortal?"

C.C. immediately froze. He shouldn't have asked.

She turned to face him, her eyes dangerous. "My mother was raped by Ares. I should be immortal, but I was born in the Underworld." She informed him through tight lips. "I was stripped of it by the anger of Hades. Persephone hasn't recognized my birth yet. I can't become immortal until she does, not that I can blame her."

Bran stared at his shoelaces. "Sorry…" he mumbled, sobered by her story.

C.C. eyed him warily. "It's fine. Now do you think if I show you what to do, you can continue painting, while I get rid of the beds?"

Bran said he did, and quickly started to imitate the method of painting. Once C.C. was certain that he could continue without her, she got to work with the beds, her well-developed if slim goddess-like physique leaving her little problem with carrying the frames. Bran, sadly, had always been small and slight, not for lack of diligence in training, but for simple body size and less endurance than most preternaturally strong and healthy demigods. The doors were big enough for her to lug the frames out of them as well.

Between the two of them, the Hera cabin was transformed. The east wall was painted shocking scarlet, while the rest were painted a warm, cream colored. The bed frames were gone, leaving only one full sized bed, a desk, and a wardrobe.

The teens slumped to the floor underneath the window. The sound of rain battering off of the glass filled the cabin.

"Do you think he'll stop that?" C.C asked innocently, with an undertone that indicated she was tired of the rain. _Thank the gods it's summer._

"Probably not… He doesn't like me much."

"That's an understatement." She scoffed, running a hand over her rucksack. She had packed for both of them, and Chiron had granted them Persephone, Ares's, and Hera's entire cabin accounts- well over ten thousand dollars. "You know we're going to Alaska, right?"

"Wait, why's that?" demanded Bran.

"The backwards land refers to the Amazons. In Greek myth, they were the opposite of everything the masochistic mainland stood for. But they were still a part of Greece. Thus, Alaska. And since planes are right out..." C.C. shrugged, tossing him his backpack, "We've got a lot of walking to do."

Suddenly the rain stopped falling. Sun shone through the window, lighting up the red wall. The entire cabin shone, the golden embroidery on the pillow case and duvet sparkled. The white paint looked even whiter as the perfect blissful weather lit up the cabin.

The teens were speechless until the rain started again, seven seconds later, almost as suddenly as it had stopped.

"Wait… what was that?"

C.C. shrugged. "Maybe a message? It's time to go?" She got up off her feet

Bran's shoulders slumped as he reluctantly pulled himself to his feet, leaving a place he'd already begun to think of as a second home. "Fine, let's go then."

The pair of adventurers picked up their rucksacks, and after casting one last look at the cabin, they headed out the door, and began on a long and strange trek, maybe as friends.

The contentment could only last for so long.

**Ellen's note – T****he next chapter will be dedicated to the first person who correctly guesses why it was sunny for 7 seconds. It wasn't a signal to go or a message of any sort and it didn't directly involve Hera. Good luck!**

**Erin's note- I'm offering the creation of a monster to the first person who reviews this chapter. This chapter was meant to give Bran and C.C. more of a personality and set up some things before we jump right into the quest, yes? I apologize if it was boring but it was completely necessary. Also- if you think a demigod's strong enough to lug matresses, tell it to Bran- he's a bit of a shrimp in terms of preternatural strength. Poor guy. Anyways, reviews are the only pay we get and you know what they say about girls giving anything away for free. Thanks!  
**


	4. Misery Loves Company

**Disclaimer -We own nothing except Bran and C.C., and they're the best part. **

**The Broken Road**  
**By Ellen 26 and Sister Grimm Erin  
Chapter 3:  
Misery Loves Company**

"You are such a _hero_," C.C. accused Bran. "We have a quest to do, a sacred bird statue to steal, we can't be rescuing little girls who you aren't even sure are in trouble! And what's with the premonition thing? If you were a son of Apollo, sure, but Hera's not a fortune teller." Thunder rumbled vaguely in the distance at this assertion. It had continued to rain on the car ride, and had only gotten worse once they exited the black S.U.V. Buckets poured down, soaking the two teens thoroughly. Bran's gray shirt clung to his body and his jean shorts were soaked. C.C., on the other hand, managed to work the weather to her advantage- her white T-shirt would not be considered coherent with his middle school's dress code and her cords were beginning to look too tight to be legal. _She would look good anywhere_, the son of Hera thought with reluctant admiration.

It could be seen as a slight bright side that the thunder and lightning had ceased. Talking over it had grown tiresome. Of course, Bran speculated that Zeus was probably planning something a little more dangerous than the stormy weather, but there was no way to find out, and the teens had too much to be worrying about whatever he might be planning, for now. There was a little girl to be saved.

The clouds evaporated again, rain ceasing and the sun was revealed for the third time that day.

"1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7." C.C. counted slowly under her breath before the rain returned with a vengeance, almost stinging as it hit their backs. "What _is_ that?"

Bran frowned. "I dunno... we've not got time to worry though. We've gotta save the girl."

"Do you have any idea where she is, even?" asked the demi-immortal impatiently.

Blood rushed to Bran's cheeks. "No... I just thought it would come to us."

"Give the Force a listen then, won't you?" asked C.C. practically.

Bran squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to do what she had said, but when he opened them, C.C. was running as a blur of little girl headed into a back alley. _Figures_.

"Look, we're here to help you," said C.C. in what she probably thought was a soothing voice. The problem was, C.C. was much too intimidating and larger-than-life to be very soothing. The girl ran.

Bran sprinted after the girl, though he was quickly outrun by the nimble C.C. as easily as he'd been outrun by the tree nymphs at camp. It wasn't that C.C. was perfect, he reminded himself, it was just that he sucked at sports, which could make him feel like an outsider among demigods. _Little girl. Pay attention. Right_. He dragged his ADD brain back on track.

It was Bran who found her, though. She had run into the dead end of an alley, and looked at them with terrified eyes. "Look, it's okay," Bran said in a much more calm voice than C.C. had managed. "What's wrong?"

The girl would have been pretty if her face was clean and she wasn't wearing torn jeans and a boy's jacket. Her hair looked as though it had been cut with safety scissors, and was matted with weeks of dirt and grime. Her eyes were wild, and her clothes were torn. She was panting. "Yeesh," C.C. said, surveying the girl with a strange kind of understanding in her eyes. "Breathe, kid." She took out her water bottle- not nectar, and offered it to the urchin. The girl mumbled a thank-you but kept her head down. She drank in gulps, nearly choking on the fresh water. Once she had downed the water bottle, she swallowed and said, "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize-," began Bran, but he was cut off.

"I am Belinda Melete. Daughter of Medusa. Please don't hurt me. I'm not working for _her_, I don't wish any harm to you demigods- I'll just leave-," there was a hint of hysteria and desperation in her voice. Bran blinked, too shocked for a moment to respond, but C.C. was right on target.

"No, don't leave," said C.C. gently. "I understand." Her voice was kinder than Bran had suspected she could be. Maternal, even. _Who would have thought_?

Belinda locked disbelieving, slitted jade eyes with C.C.'s green ones, then the younger girl's pupils widened unblinkingly. "You _do_," said Belinda, as though this were a novel idea, and to her, it might be. "What you want isn't what you need."

"Do you want to travel with us?" asked Bran.

Belinda eyed him, and Bran had the sense of being Judged. It was a little spooky, those old eyes, but Belinda was also a little girl. She reminded him of his cousin/adoptive sibling Kelly at that age. Thinking of his family made him ache. _Will I ever see them again_?

She looked at him with the faintest trace of pity, then nodded somberly. Suddenly, her face broke out in a smile, and she ran and pulled them into a warm, enthusiastic, and shocking hug. "I love you guys!"

"Why is that?" asked C.C., amused but unruffled.

"Because we'll have so much fun!" she squealed. "It'll be the best!"

Bran could only laugh at the girl's infectious good humor, and C.C. grinned broadly. "Glad to hear it, girl-chick."

Thunder rumbled vaguely in the distance then. "Did I mention the wrath of Zeus?" Bran asked reluctantly.

Belinda shook her head, still smiling. "This sounds _interesting_."

"Not as interesting as shopping," said C.C. to Belinda.

"Shopping?" Bran groaned to C.C. "First painting and redecorating, now _shopping_? Some heroes we are."

C.C. smacked him. "She needs clothes, and we can't get to Alaska on ambrosia and nectar."

Belinda blinked. "You don't have to do that for me."

C.C. snorted. "We'll get arrested if we don't clean you up, no offense. Plus, shopping is fun. I promise."

Bran sighed. "You sound like my sister," he told her.

"Your sister is a wise and most likely attractive young woman," she informed him quickly. "Now... I know someone who'll let us use their shower if we're quick."

"Who's that?" asked Belinda with interest.

"The Boys' and Girls' Club of Manhattan," said C.C. "My mom used to teach martial arts there." Her eyes clouded over momentarily.

"Persephone used to teach martial arts there?" he blurted without thinking.

"No. My real but non-biological mother used to teach martial arts here." She looked exasperated at his surprised look. "What, you think I was raised in a cardboard box? That Mr. D. bottle-fed me?"

"No..." Bran murmured. "I just didn't have time to think about it."

"Sorry," said C.C., gripping her shoulders a little to avoid seeming vulnerable. "It's just... she's dead. Because of me."

Belinda gripped her new friend's hand. "It wasn't your fault. She was protecting her daughter."

"Do you read minds?" Bran asked, hoping to divert C.C.'s attention.

"Not really. Just painful memories."

"Then you should be able to see a lot about me," C.C. told the girl. There was a kind of heaviness about her posture, as though the thought of returning there weighed her down. Bran felt strangely tempted to reach out and comfort her but she then made her shoulders straighten. "Come on, Bran. Maybe we can pick up some supplies from the Lost & Found too."

Bran smiled suddenly. "What?" C.C. asked, confused.

"That's the first time you've said my name," he told her, and then looked at the ground and blushed.

"Haven't noticed a lot of mine being said," C.C. told him, as they walked in the direction of the Harlem neighborhood where the Boys' and Girls' club was contained.

"Well, what's C.C. stand for?" the son of Hera asked her. "Just having the initials is kind of strange."

"I don't like to talk about it," she told him. "My foster mother called me Kass, but I prefer C.C."

Belinda interrupted then. "Guys. Run."

They took a look down the corner at the woman with a camera, and ran.

--

**Ellen's AN - We're SO SO Sorry!!! I mean it, school sucked, and it's been hard enough keeping on top of my own fics, never mind the joint ones, or anything else. So this is... late. Anyway, I think Erin wrote most if not all of this chapter. :) Reviews are love dearys.**

**Erin's A/N: Our apologies. School sucks. At least... well... at least you have this? XD Love, Erin.**


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